"But you've only known me a couple of days," Roddy said. "What makes you think I would be so trustworthy?"
She gave him a confident smile. "I've always been a good judge of character. And I'm quite handy at analyzing where people are coming from. You, my dear friend, are having a difficult time deciding between me and someone else, most likely your former wife back in the States."
Roddy stared in disbelief. Was she a mind reader? "What makes you think that?"
"You're very open and generous with your affections. But at a certain point, you tend to rein them in. It appears you're uncertain whether you want to commit completely." Placing her palms together, prayer-like, fingertips touching her chin, she leveled her eyes at him. "I want you to commit to me, Roddy."
He watched her silently for a long moment, more than a little disturbed at being so readily dissected and laid bare. But the offer she had put on the table was a tantalizing one, to be personal pilot and personal confidante for a dynamic lady who controlled a sizeable fortune. Although he was retired from the Air Force, he was still too young to retire from the business world. It would mean a major career step he hadn't even imagined and would probably require taking up permanent residence in Mexico.
Manuel had returned to the kitchen, and as Elena held up her empty glass, Roddy took the wine and poured.
"This is a bit overwhelming," he said, cocking his head to one side. "Do I have a little time to think about it?"
She gazed at him over the top of the wine glass, her dark, intense eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "I don't need an answer tonight."
"Thanks. You know I'd have to get the government's permission to work for you. I'm not a permanent resident."
"Remember my mentioning an old friend of my husband's, Rafael Madero, the politician? I had a call from him after I got home this afternoon. He assured me if I ever had any problems with the government, he would be happy to take care of them."
The owner of the property Bryan Janney had been concerned about, Roddy recalled. He couldn't resist the casual comment, "Don't suppose he said anything about what was going on at his cabin in the barranca?"
"No. I didn't inquire about that," Elena replied, eyeing him curiously.
Roddy found the meal outstanding, the cook worthy of one of Guadalajara's best restaurants. It ranged from sopa de flor de calabaza, or squash flower soup, to a white fish concoction with a variety of vegetables. After leaving the job offer to simmer in Roddy's mind, he and Elena tacitly agreed to keep the dinner conversation on the light side. Afterward, he called home to check his answering machine and found two messages. Herb Derry reminded him that Friday was the next scheduled breakfast for the former boys in blue, and Pablo Alba called to alert him about a charter flight for ten in the morning.
"Looks like I might as well set up a regular schedule to Tequila," he told Elena. "Pablo says I have another gringo interested in flying up that way tomorrow morning."
Later that evening, in the intimate darkness of Elena's bedroom, Roddy was determined not to be perceived as holding back. If she had thought him hesitant before, now she found him as aggressive as a hungry tiger. An instinctive lover, he probed the depths of her passion. When he found a touch or a movement or a flick of the tongue that brought an ecstatic murmur, he repeated it, replayed it, revised and refined it until he had her body writhing as though she were on fire. When the lovemaking finally subsided, she lapsed into contented slumber.
Elena had opened the doors to the balcony, letting in the cool night air and the muffled sounds of the city. Sometime after midnight, Roddy lay awake, the silence of the room broken only by her deep, slow breathing and the periodic tolling of a church bell somewhere in the distance. He thought of Karen and of his promise to let Lila know if he would make the pilgrimage back for the Fourth of July holidays. A part of him wanted to say yes, it's time to break with the sorrowful past. But another part admonished that he had already made the break when he accepted Elena's invitation to dinner.
39
Roddy arrived at the airport shortly before ten and found his passenger waiting. The man had told Pablo Alba he was from Atlanta, Georgia, though the operations director said he hardly sounded like a Southerner. He had insisted on leaving earlier in the morning, but Alba had patiently explained that the chopper was undergoing routine maintenance and would not be ready to fly before ten o'clock.
"I am Ivan Netto," said the passenger, handing over his business card.
Based on the accent, Roddy judged him to have come originally from one of the Slavic countries, probably Russia. He attributed the weary look to someone who had been traveling too long and too far. After a glance at the card, he stuck out his hand. "Roddy Rodman, Mr. Netto. Where did you want to go around Tequila?"
Netto gave him an apologetic smile. "I am not sure."
"Pardon?" Roddy frowned. How the hell was he going to fly this guy somewhere if he didn't know where he wanted to go?
"What I would like to do may sound a bit strange," Netto said, "and, perhaps, useless. You can tell me if that is so. You see, I am looking for a yellow dump truck. I was told I might find it in the Tequila area. Would this be difficult to accomplish from a helicopter?"
Roddy shook his head. He had heard some wild requests, but never one quite like this. "I used to fly search missions while I was in the U.S. Air Force," he said, folding his arms thoughtfully. "It's no big deal. You simply set up a pattern to cover the area you want to search, then fly back and forth at low altitude. A yellow dump truck should be easy to spot. But Tequila isn't all that big a town. It would be just as simple, and certainly a lot cheaper, to do it on the ground, in a car."
Netto nodded, but persisted. "The area I was advised to look at is not in the town of Tequila. It is to the north."
Roddy thought immediately of Elena's ranch. He recalled a couple of small towns not far north of there, one on the Río Grande de Santiago, the river that wound through the mountains, cutting deep gorges on its way to Guadalajara. "I was up that way yesterday. Beautiful country. We can make a thorough sweep of the area." He didn't normally pry into his passengers' business, but his curiosity got the best of him on this occasion. "What's with the yellow dump truck?"
"I am in the importing business, Mr. Rodman. I bought some valuable silver items on a trip to Taxco, then came here to check on other matters. I made the mistake of leaving things in my car. Someone broke in and stole the silver. I learned that the thieves were driving a yellow Ford dump truck that had been seen in the area north of Tequila."
Roddy took the story at face value. It was really more explanation than he had expected. And knowing the Mexican justice system, it struck a sympathetic chord. "I presume you aren't counting too heavily on the police to recover your silver. Can't blame you. Well, let's go have a look."
He fired up the chopper, radioed the tower for takeoff clearance and soon had the whirling rotor blades beating a noisy path through the bright morning sky toward Highway 15. He steered past the jutting crater of Volcano Colli, over the maguey cactus fields and north of the larger Tequila volcano.
When they were in the vicinity of Elena's ranch, Roddy consulted his chart of the area. The village of Santa Teresa lay off the highway to the northwest. He pointed it out to Mr. Netto.
"We might try around here first," he said, indicating its location.
The aeronautical chart was much more detailed than a road map, but after studying it for a moment, Netto poked a finger toward a particular spot. "I believe this is the area I was told to check out."
Roddy's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"